No Day But Today
by Lolymoon
Summary: "I should have known that all I wanted was you, and that to walk away from you was one of the biggest mistake of my life." What happened after the kiss in 4x07. Turns out quite angsty at the end.
1. Chapter 1

_**There's only us  
>There's only this<br>Forget regret- or life is yours to miss.  
>No other road<br>No other way  
>No day but today<strong>_

_**.**_

RENT - _No Day But Today_

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_**.**_

_**.**_

"_**...today is not one of those days."**_

She blinks and his lips are upon hers, pressed firmly against her mouth, hungry, desperate, strong. She gasps silently and welcomes him, his tongue already grazing her front teeth. She raises her hands – to push him away or to bring him closer, she doesn't know yet – but they hover in the air above his shoulders, shaking slightly, unable to settle, as confused and lost as she is, but then his thumb is caressing her temple and his tongue strokes her lips again and confused and lost turn into aroused and relieved and she gasps louder and opens her mouth wider and he doesn't even have to lift her, she stands up willingly, unable to bear the gap still remaining between them, wanting to feel his whole body pressed against hers as much as she is feeling his lips devoring her mouth and his hands rummaging through her hair. Perhaps this is what she has missed the most, his greedy hands in her hair, nimble fingers endlessly running through her locks. She whimpers quietly and he brings her closer, holds her tighter, and she clutches at his shoulders, fighting to keep her balance as he sways them gently on the side.

When the kiss ends she realizes she has forgotten to breathe and takes deep gulps of air, her cheek pressed against his, one hand on his neck, the other on the small of his back, her eyes open wide. This is completely wrong. They shouldn't be doing this, not when they have so many problems to take care of, so much issues to deal with yet, it will only complicate things even more... but he is licking the lobe of her ear and her knees are wobbling, thank gods for his hands on her back and her rear keeping her upright or she would soon be on the floor, she tries to turn her head to look at him and then he starts sucking on the little bit of flesh and she knows she isn't going to catch her breath anytime soon.

"Robin..."

He is assaulting her neck now and she instinctively tilts her head and closes her eyes, letting his tongue follow its path, making it easy for him even as she tries to whisper sternly again (and she feels ashamed that it sounds absolutely wanton to her ears instead):

"Robin."

He stops long enough to murmur in a husky voice against her skin:

"If there is even a small part of you that wants to stop... we can..."

He hisses as her hands quit his back to linger on his chest, trailing down slowly until she reaches his waist, settles there and pulls him closer again, her warm center pressing against the hardened bulge in his pants (she half-smiles, feeling foolishly proud of her kisses having that effect on him already).

"I don't think I'll be able to stop."

She moves back her head and he ceases to ravage her neck and finds her lips again instead, and she opens her mouth too wide and presses too hard but she is eager and can't have enough, and he doesn't mind in the slightest the nose-bumping and teeth-knocking, not when her lips are on his face, lapping at him thirstily as if all she has ever tasted until now was dry and tasteless. He manages to say between heady kiss after heady kiss:

"If you need me to I can try..."

Her hands circle his waist and grab at his butt, and she takes great delight in the violent shudder that seizes him at her gesture.

"Do you?"

He breaks their kisses and lifts his hands to cup her cheek, stroking softly before his fingers move, gently roaming all over her face, as if he wants to paint her, as if he wants to etch the outline of her face into his memory, and his eyes are two deep holes of anguish and pure, frightening desire, and his mouth contorts horribly trying to say "yes" even as his head shakes saying whole-heartedly "no" and she grabs his wrists, holds them both in place, kissing the inside of his right hand and sighing:

"Good. Because I don't want you to stop."

He nods so seriously and she feels the absurd urge to laugh, but it is all nerve and no mirth, because as light-headed and intoxicated as she feels there are still darker, somber thoughts lurking under the simple pleasure of his skin against hers, the comfort of his arms, but she won't listen to the darkness anymore, won't give in, not tonight, not ever again if she can prevent it, darkness is for another day, so she locks her arms behind his neck and presses into him again and gets lost in his lips with a sigh and he doesn't even hesitate for a moment before responding, doesn't even falter, and how can they be on the edge so quickly after interrupting themselves is a mystery to her.

Suddenly she grips his shirt and tags him along around the chest she had been sitting on, guides him towards the mirror on the wall, both stumbling a little, giddy and breathless. She wraps a finger around his scarf and lets it glide on the floor while he pushes her flush against the wall, the cold glass on the mirror biting the skin of her neck and shoulders. Her lips seeks blindly the hollow of his throat and laps and sucks gently, she hears him breathing heavily above her head, almost moaning, but then he catches up, slides his hands along her rear, pinches the back of her thighs, brings one leg to hook around his waist, holds it there while his other hand buries itself deep between her legs without manners. Her breath itches and she grips at his shoulders, fingers turning to claws and digging painfully in his flesh (no matter how passionate and how ravenous he is, he still manages to turn forceful gropping to gentle touches, but she can quite do that, is not as skilled with holding back from what she wants, not as used with tenderness. But him, he's rough, and he's considerate, and it's...).

"Don't start something you don't intent to finish," she breathes in his ear, crying out jerkily as his fingers brush against her clit – as she shifts her legs she can feel how wet she already is down there and blushes a little, but then she remembers the hardness in his trousers and she knows she is not the only one deeply affected by their clumsy, hungy make-out.

"I do intent to finish, milady," he replies with a rasp, "but I will take my time."

She smiles and pushes his green jacket off his shoulders (green, green, always green, always the forest, this overpowering smell of him she had so yearned for between empty sheets every night for too many nights) until it joins his scarf on the floor.

"Don't take too much."

He lets her leg falls down and moves his hand to her hair again, tugging almost painfully as he inclines her head to kiss her, long and deep, his tongue no longer shyly brushing her teeth but invading her mouth and working at making her forget her name, and she almost reaches that state of oblivion as his fingers begin to move along her panties, pressing against her entrance and going up again to tease her clit. She can keep her eyes open any longer as his rhythm speeds up and the tension builds low in her belly and she is trying to hold back choked, mewling sounds but he has stopped kissing her just so he could listen to them, and he urges her own, talking into her ear, telling her how beautifully she is, how sexy she sounds, how he loves being with her, that the taste of her skin is beyong words, that the wetness of her sex is exhilarating, and she had hoped he wouldnt't talk because she feels she could come just from the low and smoky tone of his voice and it's ridiculous and crazy and she covers her mouth with her hand but he wraps his fingers around her wrist, pulls it down, holds it flat against the wall, his thumb caressing her palm, he shakes his head and scolds lighlty:

"Don't hold anything back, Regina. No one can hear you here, no one but me, and I want to hear it all, I want to hear _you_..."

"Stop talking please stop talking," she gasps, her fingers digging into his hair and forcing his mouth on hers to silence him once and for all before his words drive her mad. Madder.

He complies, but his hand holding her wrist lets her go to lunge for her breast, fondling it and squeezing it in turns, his fingers still rubbing pitilessly between her legs, until her knees buckle from both frictions and he has to pin her harder against the wall to keep her standing.

Almost too breathless to kiss she just exhales loudly against his mouth and grabs the hem of his shirt with both hands, grunting when the belt he's still wearing, the one that is usually attached to his quiver and staying in place even when he doesn't need his weapons, prevents her from removing the offending piece of clothing. He chuckles at how quickly she unbelts him with a snap of her fingers, she hadn't been so impatient the first time they'd had sex to use magic to strip him, she narrows her eyes and bites his jaw for daring to mock her when she is in a drastic need and roughly gets his shirt out of her way, finally. She revels in the feel of his warm and taut skin, the tense muscles rolling under her hands, her nails trace shivering patterns on his flesh, teasing every line, ever nerve, and his hips jerk forward more than once, unabashed. She slides her arms under his to grab his shoulders from behind, holding on for dear life, seeking out his warmth as the chill in the vault and the biting cold of the mirror behind her sends goosebumps on her arms and back, even though the air is heating up fast between them.

His hand stills between her legs and she raises her head to look at him, lips pouting despite herself, eyes questioning, but he his looking at her like he is afraid she is going to vanish and the disappearance of such stunning vision would break him irreparably. His lifts both hands to her cheeks, one damp from her arousal and smelling like rain and honey and it sends quivers in her insides, and his eyes bore into her and she cannot look away, mesmerized.

"You're so beautiful in the candlelight."

He is the first man she doesn't mind hearing she's beautiful from, after her father and Daniel. Forty-something years before she can actually face those words without internal cringing, without feeling the need to rage and cry and scream, without hearing the truth behind it, materialist truths such as, _I own you, you're mine_, without feeling like she is a prize and an object.

The smile she gives him in return is forty-something years younger than the ones she's used to.

He drinks it avidly with his mouth, and they begin again, slower than they've been since he arrived, but slow is not enough today – it's _not one of those days_. The words echo in her head, uncomfortable, dangerous, buzzing with a myriad questions, countless doubts, endless _we shouldn't_ dying on her lips because this isn't fair, she tried to step away, she tried to be good, she tried to release him but who would release her from him, what can she do when he wants her so and she wants him just as bad and Fate meddles, winking at her every time she catches glimpses of the lion tattoo, so what can she do, what can she do but kiss back, but hold him, but lov...

She opens her legs as wide as her tight dress allows it and her hands descends on his behind to pull him against her, right where she wants him, where he can silence all the voices and push away the second-guessings. He takes her cue and hoists her up in his arms, the skirt of her dress riding up to her hips, her legs naturally locking behind the small of his back. His hands settle on her bottom, he takes one second to make sure his hold is strong and that she won't fall, and then he begins grinding wildy between her legs, his stone-hard member rubbing against her clit, and the pressure is not the same as before but it feels good too, so _good_, and she throws back her head and lets it bump against the glass of the mirror with every thrust of his hips, and it has nothing to do with the last time and first time they made love, it had all been gentle and languid, eyes wide open in delighted surprise at the discoveries, hands fumbling nervously in their exploration, there was nothing of this dry-humping, shameless need that takes her back to the Enchanted Forest and some of their most violent, though not at all unpleasant, encounters, that has left them both unsatisfied and wanting more because they couldn't bring themselves to go all the way and take what they wanted without it seeming like abdication.

But they are past this, today, it seems.

The renewed moans of pleasure he is wresting from her with every move of his hips turn into short gasps of pain as the heavily crafted framing of the mirror digs uncomfortably into the side of her back. When she yelps louder than before he opens his eyes and realizes the situation as he sees her squirming to get closer to him and away from the wall, and he sets her down, and in one swift movement before she can protest at the new interruption he spins her around and presses her against him, his flesh soothing the ache in her back, his left hand sliding along the silk stocking covering her thigh, up to her ass, and then to the no less silky panties she can't wait to be relieved of. His right hand moves to stroke her breast again, twisting it, and she sighs "Robin, _now_," and finally, _finally_ his fingers move past her undergarment and plunge deep into her from behind.

Her head rolls back on his shoulder and she tries to accommodate him, her hands moving up to cover the one kneading her breast and take care of her other breast herself. She feels him groan against the skin of her neck and she knows he had seen that, and smirks.

"You're so... wet," he whispers, reverently, and she shudders and pushes herself against his hand, willing him to move already.

"I thought I said no tal..."

She hisses and whimpers and chokes on her words as his fingers begin to move, fast, hard, his wrist slamming between the cheeks of her ass and she fights to control her breathing but she is soon panting and twisting her neck from side to side on his shoulder, her hands crushing his hand and her other breast, trying to anchor herself, to not be swept away by the intense feelings provoked by his fingers exploring and stretching her, and when she bits down hard on her lip he shushes her, his hot breath tickling behind her hear:

"Easy, my sweet, easy now..."

It's no longer mere shudders assaulting her but her whole body shaking uncontrollably under the spell of his voice and his lips and his hands and his body large and fierce behind her and she grits her teeth, still fighting against surrender, relentless in her obstinacy.

"Seriously Robin if you go on talking like that..."

"But I love to talk to you. I love how it makes you feel..."

He bends his knees slightly and the angle is better, his fingers go deeper into her, her eyes close tighter.

"I love how the smile you have when I tell you you're beautiful. I love how you bite your lips when I tell you how I could stroke your hair all day. I love the little angry lines around your eyes every time I say something that makes you mad. I love how your face lights up when I tell you I trust you. That I believe in you."

His words have an impressive impact on her, as if they are digging into her at the same speed and strenght as his fingers, and the sharps intakes of breath Robin takes between each worshipping murmur is almost enough to send her over the edge. She feels warmer than she has ever felt in this damned vault and the pounding of her heart is almost too loud to hear him anymore, so her hand drops her breast and raises to fist into his hair, forcing his lips closer to her ear, while her own lips chant "more, Robin, more, tell me more" and she no longer wants him to keep silent, she is drunk on his voice and the adoration he pours into her.

"I love to watch you. I love how your neck his flushing and your cheeks are blushing when I'm fucking you (she gasps and her grip on his hair becomes painful), I love watching you come undone because of me, because of what I'm doing to you, I love how you look right now, you're so beautiful, open you eyes, Regina, look at you, you're so..."

She follows his voice and opens her eyes and she sees herself in the mirror in front of her, though the glass is steamy and the reflection blurred, she sees her neck stretched back against him, her legs wide open, her chest heaving with each laboured breath, her face slightly red and sweaty and her lips parting wantonly.

The sight of her so out of control and so aroused is both unsettling and exciting, she doesn't dare to look, and she can't look away, she tries to close her eyes but Robin pinches her on the cheek, chastising merrily, and he drawls out "that bloody red dress..." in an awestricken voice and she laughs and smirks proudly and feels something like triumph, and his arm whose fingers are not busy pumping into her with repeated strokes that must hurt his hand now circles her waist and holds her up, until her feet are resting upon his – she doesn't remember at which point did she lose her shoes, perhaps when he has pressed her against the wall – and suddenly he enters her with a third finger and both her hands fly to grip his arm while her face contorts in ecstatic agony. She has never been a large woman, it is hard for him to move at first and it hurts her a little, but he tells her to take deep breath, his other hand his carressing her stomach, then lower, as if to ease his way, and then she adjusts and nods eagerly and he takes up his pace again, slower this time and she screams briefly and whines lengthily because it's overwhelming, his thrusts are shallower but more intense somehow, his hand leaves her stomach and gently probes her clit, his index alternating between circling it and pressing and tears begin to gather in her eyes as another kind of wetness floods his hand at just how much he makes her _feel_, and he is licking his way up and down her neck and biting on her shoulder and the moans are no longer breathy, constrained noises but throaty, heavy cries and he moans too, grinding against her ass, a sheen of sweat on his brow, the restraint is hard on him and he keeps pounding into her and torturing her clit and she feels it building, tight, strong, bright pleasure, and her arms flail almost comically, searching for something to hold on to, and he grunts "you can let go, I've got you" and "look at me, Regina, look at me" and she opens her eyes and catches his lustful gaze in the mirror, and his traps her clit between his thumb and index and _pinches_ itand she is done.

Her hips buck and buck against his hand, both of his hands, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on her and carries her away, and her nails are sunk deep in the skin of his arm as she rides on and rides on and he keeps going, his eyes never leaving her face in the mirror, even when she has to close her eyes, he keeps going even when she looks about to faint and her screams of pleasure have turn to broken shouts in her throat and then he stills, holding her, carrying her, until she finds enough sense to wind her arm around his neck and pulls him down a bruising kiss, the angle all wrong and uncomfortable, her lips meeting more often his nose and his cheeks than his mouth but she doesn't care because it's always him, his flesh. Her legs are shaking violently and his are too and the fingers still buried in her are cramped, he pulls them out slowly, smiling tiredly when she whimpers at the loss. Clumsily, he guides her to the wooden chest and they fall rather than sat heavily on it, her in his lap, her head resting on his shoulder.

For just one minute, everything is still, the only sound their desperate struggle for breath, his fingers stroking her hair, hers grazing the hairline on his stomach, both too stunned to move or speak. But then Robin takes a deeper breath, and rasps:

"Oh gods..."

"I need to lie down."

He laughs and her eyes are twinkling. Her skin is still flushed, her mouth can't quite keep close and she looks a bit dazzled and unfocused.

She is absolutely breathtaking.

He drops a languid kiss on her forehead, then her nose, and her lips, pecking them until she laughs too.

"I share the feeling, milady, but I can't lay down a queen on the dusty floor of a vault."

"First of all I dare you to find a speck of dust on this floor. Second..."

She waves her hand lazily and an army of cushions and blankets fly from another room (she had had use of those more than she should have, sleeping here when she was too tired to head back home in the middle of the night without having come up with a solution) and settle at their feet.

"...I never lie _just _on the floor."

He nods in mocking appreciation and before she can gives him one of her famous scowl he gets to his feet and, half-carrying, half-dragging her, he leads her to the soft nest her magic has made and he doesn't need to pull her to him for her to lie down on his chest, her legs are not able to support her at the moment anyway, and the urge to snuggle in his warmth is too strong.

They remain like this, limp limbs intertwined, waiting for their heartbeats to slow down. He is still hard beneath her and she wants to do something about that, but when her hand goes down to relieve him from a long dragged tension, he stops her, whispering "Wait. Not now," and brings her hands to his lips, sucks the gap between her fingers, his eyes intent and dark, and he makes her sigh and whimper again, makes her press her legs together, just with his tongue on her hands, and he reaches for the zipper of her dress under her arm and drags it down languorously, his fingers wandering into the new opening and aiming straight at the underside of her breath, almost twitching with relief at being that much closer to her skin.

"I have to get you out of these clothes."

"I thought you liked the dress."

"I like what's beneath even more..."

She is smiling but her brain is catching up with her and while the afterglow of orgasm is still on her she's beginning to feel a sense of dread, a sense of wrong, and she squirms as Robin lifts her dress up to her shoulders, past her head, pushes it aside to join his other discarded clothes. She pulls away as his fingers hook around the straps of her bra, her hands on his chest.

"Robin, wait."

He looks up at her, and perhaps the expression on his face of a little boy having been ripped off his favorite toy would have made her laugh if she hadn't spotted the worry etched at the corners of his mouth and his eyes, worry she feels too because what does it all mean? Is this just some shameful fuck before he does back to his wife again? Is he...

She shakes her head and asks, eyes closed and voice pained:

"What do you want from me? Are you here because..."

"Because I'm choosing you."

She gulps and opens her eyes almost fearfully, noticing with disbelief his absolute resolve, and he looks more calm and more sure than he has ever been since Marian's return, and it is tempting, so tempting...

"You... you are?"

It is a more cautious and less blissful echo of her reaction to his confession of love, but still as touched.

His hands goes to her face and caresse her cheeks gently, lovingly, burying in her hair then, descending on her neck, strands twirling between his fingers, his thumb pressing at the base of her throat, possessive, but tender, always respectful, always minding.

"I should have chosen you from the beginning. I would, if I hadn't been so... afraid."

She lowers herself on him again, bracing herself on her elbows, her face inches from his.

"Afraid?"

"Yes. I was terrified of choosing wrong. Of not doing the right thing. I should have known that doing the right thing was listening to what my heart was screaming at me."

He smiles, and he is suffering, but happiness and conviction are shining in his eyes.

"I should have known that all I wanted was you, and that to walk away from was one of the biggest mistake of my life."

He tucks his finger under her chin and lifts her head slightly, staring at her lips.

"I am choosing _you_ Regina."

She tries not to drown herself in the sound of her heartbeat, not to get lost in the elation running through her veins, she breathes, quietly, anxiously, "For how long?" and his mouth brushes against hers.

"Forever. If you let me."

And it's not good and it's not right yet and there's still so many things to figure out but it's enough for now, the rest can wait for tomorrow, for another day, because it's perfect, because she had never hoped to hear that in her life.

Lies.

She had hopelessly hoped to hear them, knowing she was a fool, and now...

And now she pounces on him with a renewed ardor and their kiss is hard and fierce and sharp and so, so wet it's sinful, and she moans into his mouth to undress her, _right now_, and his hands shot up to the clasp of her bra and unhook it (he has had only to practice twice to make it perfect), letting her breasts spill free, the erect nipples brushing the skin under his collarbone. He sighs happily and it vibrates against her lips. She laughs as he palms the heavy orbs of flesh, and slides down under her to take one nipple into his mouth hungrily and she had noticed in the Enchanted Forest how his eyes often darted to her cleavage (and who could blame him, really, even she felt quite mesmerized sometimes by how beautifully her breasts are enhanced by those insane dresses of hers), how his hands and mouth had kept going back to them while he was burying herself in her by the fireplace in her office, and it amuses her that he is so fond of her bosom. Then her amusement is replaced by dizziness as he keeps on sucking and sucking and sucking, his teeth worrying her nipple, licking it, playing with it viciously and moving on to the other, throbbing almost painfully and stiff for his attention at this point. Her arms begin to shake and he turns them around, laying her on her back, moving on top of her without even letting go of her breast. But his intent was to have her naked in his arms and he hasn't forgotten about it.

He lets go with a loud popping noise that leaves a tinge of red on her cheeks and sits back on his heels, his hands sliding to the top of her thighs. He pauses to look at her, the dark shade of her skin, her arms limp at her sides, her belly quivering, her chest deliciously heaving, nipples glistening with his spit, her eyes heavy-lidded, smokier than ever. She smiles at him, hesitant, wondering why he has stopped, and he swallows harshly and takes the hem of one stocking between his fingers, pulls him down slowly, tantalizing, so carefully, as if peeling it off her skin, and her leg raises up as he removes the lingerie, his mouth quick to follow the path of his fingers, and then the stocking goes away and he is sucking at her toes, his index grazing up and down the skin of her foot and she giggles nervously and protests and tries to snatch her leg away but his grip is strong and he finishes with an open-mouthed kiss on the sole and she moans so loudly she ends it into her shoulder. He does exactly the same with her other leg and she is chanting his name and soon she is left in nothing but the black lace of her panties.

His fingertips hover above the thin material, already aching to tear it away from her body, but just as his hands settle on her mound she raises one foot and presses it firmly against his crotch, right on his throbbing cock, and he chokes on air and grabs her ankle roughly enough to leave a mark.

"Shouldn't we do something about that first?"

She wiggles her toes against his jeans and his fingers tighten even more on her skin and he bites his bottom lip hard, warning and lust in his eyes.

"I told you," he hiccups, unable to decide whether he wants to remove her foot or press it harder on his groin, "not before I get my way."

She raises an eyebrow at him, loving how at her mercy he is with just a flick of her toes.

"Which is?"

He inhales deeply and then forces her foot down and reaches for her panties, almost ripping them as he slides them hurriedly along her legs and she just has the time to straighten up on her elbows and opens her mouth to question him and his mouth is on her, hot and humid against her nether lips, and she cries out and bucks, her hands fisting in his hair.

"Robin!"

She feels him smirk down there and she tugs sharply at the strands on his nape in punishment. She is not entirely comfortable with this. She tries to breathe and enjoy it but when his tongue sneaks out to tease he entrance she tenses and jerks away from him. Immediately, he stops and moves up, catching her head between his hands.

"I'm sorry, I..."

He hushes her with a kiss on her forehead.

"Hey, it's all right, if you don't want to..."

"I do want to, I'm just not... I'm just not used to let people being that close."

He strokes her cheeks with his thumbs and nods soflty in understanding, scowling when he sees her avoiding his eyes, but she asks him, her voice unsure and almost shy:

"Do you think you could try again?"

He gives her three little kisses on the lips, smiling, and bumps her nose with his.

"Of course. You tell me whenever something feels wrong, all right?"

She smiles back and lies her head down again, her eyes closing, and she is concentrating too hard, overthinking it, and he has to make her forget about what's going to happen and focus on how it's going to feel. So he takes his time. He explores her body bits by bits, with his eyes first – and he asks her if they can have more candles because he doesn't see her enough like this on the floor and in the flick of her wrist the candles already surrounding them start to float in the air above their heads, giving the scene a gentle glow and now more than ever they feel lost into another world, their own – and then his tongue, in the end there is not an inch of her he hasn't licked, and he makes discoveries along the way, some adorable (the seven beauty spots on the back of the inside of her right thigh aligned like the stars of Cassiopeia), some troubling (the faint stretch marks on her belly he asks her about, because he thought Henry – not Henry, she says with a tense smile, but that is a story for another day, and she says no more and he doesn't ask further), and once in a while he goes down on her again, brief strokes of his tongue, one hand gripping hers or his eyes looking up at her, always there, always anchoring her to him, and soon she is the one pushing his mouth between her legs.

It takes him a while to bring her to orgasm, she is still not completely relaxed, feels too overly exposed, too vulnerable lying there, spread-eagled before him, her legs so wide open and even though he keeps saying what a vision she is and how sexy and how marvellous and _oh _she smells so good and _ah_, her taste... she resists.

It's too intimate, it's too raw, but he is skilled, he knows how to distract her, he can't speak now but he knows what to do with his tongue, he has her crying out at the N as he traces her name against her clit – in capital letters – and his grip on her thighs is slipping because of the sweat gathering there, so he puts one hand flat on her stomach and the other goes down to bury two fingers in her, but it's not his thrusts that makes her come nor his mouth greedily sucking her clit, it's the way he shouts "I love you" within her while she feels her pulse beating in her sex and she thinks _he chose me, he chose me_, and she comes, dreamily, without a sound, her thighs quaking around his head, and he has barely finished she is hoisting him up, kissing him like there is no tomorrow and tasting herself on his lips, her fingers go straight to his pants and free him quickly. She wraps a small hand around his cock, squeezing it, and he has been hard and ready for so long it almost hurts him.

He is soon within her, buried deep.

He gasps with relief and she sees a tear escaping his eye and she knows she is not the only one suffering from their time apart, but then his anguished kiss had already told her that. He pounds into her then, steadily, her heels digging into his buttocks to urge him to go faster, deeper, but he keeps the same pace and toys with her clit again, and there is a frightening determination in his face, as if he means to make her come all night, and his other hand is roaming her body, touching everything he can, and she knows where this comes from, she knows he's afraid of losing her, which is absurd because she couldn't be more his than in this moment. She stills him, holds his face in her hands, and whispers "I'm not going anywhere – I am here – let go, Robin" and he jerks and spills into her with choked cries, and she wonders why he hasn't dared to bring himself to this release until now, and then she thinks there must be some issues of underlying guilt, so she rocks him in her arms and murmurs pretty nonsense in his ear as he comes down from his high, stroking his dark-blond hair, feeling burning tears drop on her overheated skin but he doesn't sob, he only keeps gasping for hair, whimpering "I've missed you, _gods_ I've missed you," and "I love you Regina, I love you..." and finally she shuts him up with a kiss because it's all too much, she can't hear him anymore and now she no longer feels euphoric and sated but empty and cold as his member softens and slips out of her. She thinks about his words when he has made his intrusion in her vault and yes he has chosen her but for wrong reasons and she is the bad choice, the one is going to regret, and everything she has tried to push away while she was taking what was _hers_, dammit, she'd had pixie dust and Fate shenanigans to prove it, comes back to her full force and knocks the wind out of her lungs and she is no longer breathless from making love.

She smiles at Robin as he turns on his side to face her, his arms around her waist, and he doesn't see the crack, doesn't see the fracture and the ugliness, he is spent, he is boneless against her, all his emotions have worn him down, and he blinks heavily the somnolence away but it's a battle he cannot win and she tells him to sleep, to just sleep, and she kisses him everywhere on his face, ear to ear and brow to chin and finally he lowers himself to snuggle against her breasts, closes his eyes, lets his breath even out slowly, and allows sleep and oblivion to come.

Only when she is sure that Robin is dead to the world does Regina cry. Not a sound, like the good girl she always was (never was).

She looks at this kind, sweet and brave man to whom she owes more than her life, this amazing man that had never ceased to surprise her, first irritatingly, then wonderfully, the man who has refused to see darkness in her, but now she sees darkness in him, and she has put it there.

She has destroyed him and his precious honor, ruined him like she has ruined everything she touches, poisoned him like the deadly nightshade she is.

She buries her face in his hair at the top of his head, and murmurs against his skull:

"I'm sorry I love you. I'm so sorry, Robin."

And she cries herself to sleep much like she has done most nights since Marian's return, the only difference this time being that the object of her guilt and longing is right there in her arms, and yet had never felt so far-off.

The candles lower gently on the ground, flickering one last time before dying out as the faint sound of Regina's repressed sobs echoes gloomily into the vault.

.

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**Sorry for the angst, I love you all.**

**I may write the morning after, I haven't decided yet.  
><strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**I remember tears streaming down your face**  
><strong>When I said, "I'll never let you go"<strong>  
><strong>When all those shadows almost killed your light<strong>  
><strong>I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone"<strong>  
><strong>But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight<strong>

**_Safe and Sound_**** ~ Taylor Swift & The Civil Wars**

* * *

><p>When he wakes up, stiff and sore, he is cold and alone.<p>

Her scent still lingers beside him, a ghost of her supple and soft body, a mere shadow of the warmth he has hoped to wake up to.

"Regina?"

His voice is so hoarse, the words almost don't come out. His mind foggy with sleep, he smiles. He was under the impression last night that she was the one being the most vocal, but he must have missed his own screams because there is definitely a discomfort in his throat.

His smiles falls when he looks up at the empty place between the sheets again.

Robin sits up, his body terribly heavy and not quite coordinated, and looks around the room.

She is gone. She had waited for him to be fast asleep, and vanished in the middle of the night or at the break of dawn.

She has left him.

Why?

His hurt feels too real for him after the fantaisies that has played here last night, after the oneiric evening that has left his mouth so full of her flesh and his eyes filled to the brim with her smile.

What happened? Did he do something to upset her? Has she been called away? Has she got scared?

His heart spasms tightly in his chest as if invisible fingers are tugging and pulling, and he hears it. A quiet breath. A stifled sniff.

She is here. She hides.

From him?

He rises slowly, knots the lilac-colored sheet his legs has been tangled in around his waist, not bothering to look for his pants, anxious to be by her side as soon as possible.

The sighs and whimpers are still quiet, repressed, but clearer now that he has noticed them. His hunter's ears prick up to locate the sound, and he frowns.

It's coming from the wall.

No. From the mirror.

He puts his hands flat against the hard surface - brushing the memories aside of the last time he has looked in that mirror, watched her writhing and thrashing against him, around his fingers, he blocks those images, he doesn't want to be sidetracked, even as the blood rushes to his head and to other places - and his reflection gives him a puzzled look. Robin stick his ear to the glass, hisses when the cold bites him, and closes his eyes to listen.

A dry sob.

The voice is unmistakably hers. And from the way it reverberates, there is a room behind this wall.

Luckily, Robin has spent years breaking into opulent mansions, secret cellars, concealed rooms, heck, even into enchanted castles. It takes him a little while but he finds it. There is always a mecanism. At the bottom of the glass, a damaged, ternished piece of framing detaches itself from the rest for the informed eye. Robin pushes it down with a finger, and the wall starts to retreat, offering him the sight of a startled, half-dressed, and tearful Regina.

The room he discovers is bright, white and red, it is both cosy and cold, Christmas and stern winter wrapped in blinding lights. He blinks harshly, his hand above his eyes until he adjusts, and takes cautious steps towards the woman who seems affected by the same stilling spell cast on the room that makes it look like a jewel case harboring her past.

Regina is sitting on a white couch that looks only slightly more comfortable than the one in her office (as it always is with Regina, even the furnitures are not made for comfort but to keep up appearances), her legs carelessly thrown above the arm of the couch, a cushion in her lap and a picture frame in her clutched hand. She straightens up as soon as she recovers from the initial shock of being intruded upon in her secret lair, and sits more regally, discarding cushion and picture and tightening at the neck the deep blue robe she is wearing. Her hair are adorably mussed from last night's activities, but her make-up from yesterday is leaking around her eyes, a lonely black streak sliding along her cheek, tainting the flawless skin. But those are the only signs of vulnerability from her. She is no longer looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes consumed by pleasure or shining in joyous amazement and tender gratefulness. Her face is tense, every line hard, her war mask falling into place, and he doesn't want that, he doesn't want her to revert to this, but he lets her, because she still needs this when she feels threatened or insecure, and he has made a misstep, intruding thus on her privacy, bursting in her safe place, even if he has the best intentions. So he humors her.

But the venom he hears in her voice that sends him back to months of forced disdain from her part in the Enchanted Forest, like nothing has happened between them, like she doesn't care at all (of course she cares, or she wouldn't try to hurt him), like she hates him (of course she doesn't, or she wouldn't been looking like she whole world is weighing on her), it is still painful.

"It seems there is really no getting away from you, thief (thief, she hasn't called him that for so long and it feels weird in her mouth)," she barbs, but her voice wavers, "no matter where I hide you always come and find me, don't you?"

Regina bites her tongue in anger and punishment for her poor wording, echoing the annoying catchphrase of the two idiots, and she feels sick, feels sick because those aren't words made for her and her sad tale, there is no "I'll always find you" for the Evil Queen, there shouldn't be, really. Those are words whispered between good people, between heroes. He might have murmured them to Marian once upon a time (she feels sicker now, she's making herself sick on purpose), because they are the true love story. They are the legend. They fit. They make sense. But her? She doesn't fit. Robin and her, the Queen and the Outlaw, the evil sorceress and the noble thief? How the hell does that make sense? What kind of tale is this?

He doesn't answer her right away. He takes prudent steps towards the couch, and sits cautiously next to her, trying hard not to let his disappointment show when she shifts away from him and grips her robe tighter against her.

She is looking straight at the wall when he talks, and he is looking right at her. He can never do anything but look at her when she is in a room.

"Why do you want to hide from me?"

She barks a laugh, more nervous than mean, and shakes her head jerkily and she looks like she might cry. But this is Regina Mills. She has held back a sea of unshed tears for most of her life and she can damn well hold those ones. She doesn't cry in front of people - but cries so much, cries so much all alone.

"I don't know how ever did I manage to end up stuck with a bunch of uncouth characters who have absolutely zero sense of personal space."

"Why milady, you mean there are more than me?"

He tries to be light and amusing, he tries to go back to happy places, to the time where he could chase away the clouds from her face with his cockiness and some well-chosen words, and he almost succeeds, her lips twitch upward, a flicker of a smile.

"Well, there's that irksome Charming family you heard me complain about countless times. Although I do think you're actually worse than Emma with leaving me alone."

He chuckles, full of warmth and gentleness, and she blinks away, away from his welcoming smile and his inviting torso (did he came half-dressed on purpose, to make her fall more quickly into his arms?), but then he extends his hand with deliberate slowness, allowing her to stop him or slip away anytime she wants, but she doesn't, and he silently sighs with relief when she lets him hold her hand.

"You know it's because they care. Because we care. So will you tell me what is troubling you?"

His other hand rises to brush away a rebellious strand of her hair and she surreptitiously leans on his touch, she finally looks him in the eye and her mask has fell down.

"Robin... I know this is the time I'm supposed to be strong and sensible. The time where I should tell you to go away and return to your wife and that we can't do what we did last night ever again, but I'm... I'm not... sure I can."

He watches with horror as her voice breaks over her words, and he struggles to understand what she is saying, to make sense of this sudden outburst of what feels like nonsense, and now her eyes are closed and both her hands are gripping his own like a lifeline and he doesn't care for the nails digging into his skin, drawing blood, he doesn't care because she looks like she might collapse and crumble, and he buries his hand in her hair, holding tight as she shakes her head, a tear finally sliding along her cheek.

"I can't, Robin. I'm sorry, I can't, I can't do the right thing, not when you look at me like that, not when you touch me like that..."

He stops her sobbing outburst with his lips, moving gently against her mouth, tasting salt, and pressing hard to comfort her, to anchor her here with him while rages the tempest in her mind, to push her pain away. Both his hands come to frame her face, and she is slack against him at first, responsive, her mouth opening hungrily, but she tenses all of a sudden and turns her head away, his lips gliding on her cheek, catching strands of her hair.

"Robin..."

"Why are you saying this? Why should I go away, why should I leave, I don't want to leave you, I don't..."

"But you _have _to, don't you see?"

She has fully pulled back and she is angry now, she is angry and hurt and so terribly lost, fighting against everything in herself to make the right choice, still desperate, still tortured.

"Can't you see how wrong this is?"

"Wrong?"

He is angry too, his jaw clenching, he doesn't understand, she doesn't mean that, she can't mean that, she -

"You think us being together is a mistake?"

His tone is incredulous and astonishment is clearly painted on his face and she sighs and takes his hands in hers, eyes determined, but still glossy.

"Yes, Robin, this is a mistake, and yes, it's wrong. It's wrong because you are giving up everything you stand for, everything you believe in order to be with me. And I don't want you to betray yourself. I don't want you to fall into the place I've been in, where there's no morals and no limits and everything is senseless and out of control. I know how it is down there, and it's hell to climb out of it. I don't... I don't want to corrupt you."

She closes her eyes. She can't bear to see the veil of horror that gradually taints his gaze as she speaks and as she makes him realize the truth of her words and the reality of what he has done - of what they have done. Now, he understands, she thinks, and now he will leave.

But he doesn't. His hands shake in hers, but he doesn't move, and when she dares opening her eyes again, he is still staring, but with tears threatening to fall, and his mouth is open in breathless agony.

"What a fool I was..."

She swallows back a wail of misery and manages a smile that feels like a knife is cutting through her face and presses his hands, comforting, sympathizing.

"It's okay, Robin. You can still fix this if you walk away now, before anything between us goes any further. You were under a lot of stress and an impossible situation and it's... relatively understandable that you snapped and faulted, but this can never happen again. In fact, we'd better forget it ever did. You have to - "

"Don't. Don't, _please_, don't another word, I can't, it's not - "

"Robin, you don't understand..."

"No! _You_ don't understand! Gods, I can't believe that you thought... I could never act that way with you Regina, I could never put you in a place where... What kind of man do you think I am?"

"Even good men can make mistakes, Robin."

Her tone is cool, distant, she doesn't like how offended he sounds, what an hypocrite, why is he acting all righteous now when he has clearly said yesterday that - he shakes his head violently, sighs and tries to collect himself, to be calm, and when he speaks his voice is firmer, softer.

"All right, hear me out, Regina, just..."

He takes a deep breath before launching himself into his speech.

"I'm sorry. I should have been clearer yesterday."

She tilts her head, questioning, and he smiles a tired smile, his fingers aching to smooth away the tense lines of her brow.

"I am not giving up anything to be with you, Regina. That code I told you about, it ruled my life but it doesn't define me. Yesterday, I realized that it was only a failsafe. Only a way to make sure I would never stray away from the right path again, that I would never do the wrong thing, no matter what. But I did (he looks so dismal and guilty right now it hurts her, the depth of it, but she refrains from saying anything, anxious for his words). I hurt you both terribly, you and Marian. I hadn't been true to either of you, nor to myself. In fact, I think I might having been terribly wrong more than once in my life despite my precautions."

He puts his head in his hands, fingers running through his hair, and he looks up as the wall as he enunciates carefully:

"I am a man who has fought against laws and rules and dictatorship for most of his life. And yet, I've let a code enslave me. I've let it rid myself from all personal judgment and followed it blindly. _This_ is wrong. Not us. This. Me. I was wrong."

He turns towards her, bends forward and gently cups her cheeks, palms large and warm against the flesh, his forehead inclined to brush hers, he wants her to know, he wants her to believe.

"Regina, last night I wasn't making a mistake, I wasn't demeaning myself, I wasn't losing my way. I was freeing myself."

Her eyes are so, so large, and he would be drowning in them if he wasn't already, if he hadn't been since the very first time he met her gaze, and there's fear all right, there is still distrust and wariness, and she doesn't dare, doesn't dare believing, she is fighting against hope and failing hard, her hands are on his chest, palming his muscles and she speaks in a strangled voice:

"You..."

"You made me open my eyes, Regina. You didn't corrupt me or ruined me. You freed me."

She blinks, her mouth agape, and he smiles, and then she sags gracelessly against him, a doll whose strings have been cut, she curls up in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest, overwhelmed by the sound of his madly beating heart, eyelids fluttering against his nipple, arms squeezing his waist with such strength he thinks she is going to cut him in two, but she is sobbing adorable little laughs of wonder and she can break all the bones in his body and knocks the wind out of him, he will die with a blissful smile on his lips, as long as he dies with her in his arms, where she completes him.

Her being so close fills Robin with such relief and intoxicating thoughts it takes him a while to focus on what she is mumbling against his flesh.

"But the way you said it... I thought you meant..."

Her breath is short and he rubs her back in soothing motions between her shoulder blades, the linen robe creasing under his fingers.

"It sounded like you were giving up. Like you had no hope left. When I woke up this morning, I couldn't get your words out of my head."

_Truthful, righteous, and good. Three virtues he couldn't have with her. Three moral grounds he had thrown away in a night that tasted like sin._

His hand sneaks under her chin, and lifts it up to meet her eyes, his thumb rising to graze the corner of her lips, tenderly, lovingly, but the more she remembers, the more her thoughts darken, and the less she trusts his reassurances.

"I am so sorry for what I said. It was never my intent to suggest that anything about you was making me do something wrong."

She smiles thinly, surprisingly she is the more realistic about their situation, and Robin is the one blinded by his emotions, he doesn't see the whole picture there.

"I believe this is one of those cases where what you mean and how the other person takes it are irreconcilable."

"Regina..."

She puts her index on his mouth.

"Wait. Maybe you don't see it that way, maybe you truly think there is nothing wrong with you being with me while your wife lies frozen in the hospital (the flash of guilt in his eyes tells her he _does _even if he refuses to). But the fact remains that you are making a choice that completely turns upside down all you've previously thought about yourself. You need time to adjust to that and to see if this is really how you want to live. If you want to live like... this."

"You mean with you. I want to live with you. That's all I want."

"But at what cost?"

She sighs and reluctantly breaks away from his embrace, giving him a hard look when he tightens his arms to keep her against him, and he closes his eyes and flares his nostrils in anger (not at her, never, at him, at this mess), but lets her go.

"I would never think less of myself for being with you, for chosing you, for loving you, Regina. I don't think you know how much I look up to you for everything you've done for me."

"It doesn't matter. I failed. I couldn't save Marian. That's also why you shouldn't be here, Robin. Because if you are with me there is no way you'll be able to wake her."

She winds her arms around her middle, drawing up her legs under her on the couch, and she looks very frail huddled there in the corner, with nothing but a light robe around her tiny frame, deep circles under her eyes (how long since she has had a good night's sleep, he wonders, and the guilt strikes again because it's his fault), her cheeks smudged with mascara and he doesn't know where her strength comes from, how such a small woman can harbours so much power, and not be aware of the fact that it doesn't come from her capacity to destroy and cause havoc, but that it resides in this, in doing the right thing without guidance, without training, without a so-called code, each step forward harder than the last and easier at the same time, each step forward a tremendous victory against herself and Fate. He loves her, loves her absolutely for this, even as she hurts him with her words, with her drawing back from him, with the way she hates herself. He loves her and that love will never be wrong.

"You didn't fail. I did. I'm the one supposed to save her, and I can't, not like this, because I can't just fall back in love with Marian. Love is not something you can just force yourself to feel. I will find another way to help her."

"I told you," she mutters, annoyed, "there is no other way, I haven't been able to find anything..."

"I won't let you do it alone this time. We will find the solution, together. We _will _find it."

He sounds as sure and determined as she had been days earlier, and doesn't seem to notice the way he's echoing her words. She almost smiles, thinking about how their relationship has been an echo game right from the beginning.

_Have we met before?_

She looks at him for a long time. Gauging him and his faith. And in the end being won over by it.

She gives a little nod.

"All right."

Her heart breaks when his whole face lits up and she has to literally keep him at arm's length, as he goes to embrace her again.

"But it can't be with us being together like this. Not until Marian is saved and you have told her about your choice. If it still holds by then."

"I won't have second thoughts about us."

"But you have to agree it's better for everyone involved if we try not to involve making our relationship work in the midst of this. Because it will take a lot more than an "I choose you" to make it work, Robin."

His eyes are conflicted, but his face is already resigned.

"So this means..."

"No date, no kiss, no candlelight evening and above all no repetition of what we did last night. From now on, we only focus on Marian."

In other circumstances, his disappointment could have been comical, but the sincere heartbreak that goes with it softens her and she scoots a little closer to him, runs her knuckles against his jaw in one swift movement.

"It's truly for the best, dear."

He catches her hand before it slips away and lets his lips hover above her wrist.

"I agree on your terms."

His formal tone is sweetened by the brief kiss he lands on her skin. Her smile is half-hearted, but she lets him hold her hand. He plays gently with her fingers, drawing little circles around the knuckles, his face an open book of wretchedness, his eyes boring into hers, and she tilts her head, worried, waiting for him to formulate the dark thought that seems to possess him.

"I hurt you."

She knows what he means. He's hurting her now even though she's the one setting the rules. He hurt her yesterday by his rash actions. And he hurt her on the whole by not choosing her right from the beginning.

"I hurt you more."

He shakes his head.

"You didn't kill her. I know."

"As Emma would say: just because you believe something doesn't make it true."

"And I say innocent until proven guilty."

His arm slides along hers and he grabs her neck, holding it tightly.

"And even if you had... I know you're not her anymore."

She swallows heavily, and doesn't quite meet his eyes. Doesn't quite believe him, as she whispers softly:

"I guess that's one of the many things we'll have to work out."

"Aye."

They remain silent, eyes half-closed, listening to each other's breath, leaning on where their flesh meet. He is the one to ask, unsure:

"What about now?"

She doesn't know. She doesn't want to get out of here yet. Doesn't want to return to her life. She feels safe, here. They are safe. Removed from the whole world, lost in tender eyes, nothing matter beyond the other's skin, no thought necessary beyond the next kiss, possessed by passion as they were yesterday. But these walls and denial can't protect them forever. They could never pretend eternally. Sooner or later, and the sooner the better for everyone, they have to go back, to return to reality, because there is a Snow Queen on the loose and a frozen wife to save and sons to take care of and expectations to meet and promises to keep.

But is it wrong to want one more kiss before their world end?

He contorts his mouth, fighting off the impulse that seizes him, but in the end he loses and chokes:

"Regina... I..."

She silences him with her mouth. Lips parting, tongue thrashing, teeth clashing. He doesn't hesitate for a second before responding, his hands gripping her shoulders, then descending on her waist and urging her in his laps. She straddles him on the couch, her robe sliding open at the bottom, leaving thighs bare to his eyes and she is warm and he could cry, she moans in his mouth "Just one kiss..." and he nods eagerly but doesn't let go, and one kiss turns to ten and when she finally hands him off her collarbone and neck have been properly licked and sucked and the belt of her robe is unfastened, her breasts pushing against his chest.

She hastily rearrange herself and he clears his throat, both their cheeks a little red, both breathless. But when she means to get off his lap he holds her.

"I love you."

She tries to look away but he puts his forhead against hers, and breathes on her lips:

"I love you. No matter what happens, or how many time it takes for us to overcome all this, I love you. My beautiful, beautiful queen."

He grunts a noise of concern and dissatisfaction as a lonely tear spills down her cheek, but she stops him and intertwine her fingers with his when he tries to catch it.

"Let it fall. I didn't get the chance to cry many happy tears in my life."

They exchange bitter-sweet smiles, and maybe one day she'll tell him about the hurts and betrayals, and maybe one day he'll tell her about his own darkness that makes him so much wiser to her issues and their situation than she can possibly now, but for today, they just want to leave each other with a bit of hope.

She gently palms his cheek and strokes it with her thumb, giving his nose a slight bump, and with a last brush of her lips, she is standing, and he is as cold as when he woke up this morning.

She clicks her fingers. Dark grey slacks and a beige turtleneck replace the robe. She waves her hand. The blankets and pillows fly back from the other room and fold easily in the closet behind her. Robin hasn't budged. She doesn't give him the chance to express with his words what she reads in his eyes.

"See you around, thief."

She raises her arms and vanishes in a cloud of dark purple smoke, while he thinks he has never heard an insult spoken so lovingly.

.

When she gets home, appearing in the middle of her living-room, Henry immediately rushes down the stairs and almost slams into her.

"Mom! Something happened, we have to... Wait what happened to your eyes?"

He gives her a close look before she can responds and adds, worried:

"Have you been crying? What happened?"

Her hand goes to her cheek and she doesn't even need to look at her blackened fingertips to remember she has forgotten to fix her make-up. She musters the best smile she can, the one she has practiced for years with him ("it's not going to hurt, Henry, it's just your MMR vaccine", "no dear, I didn't scream in my sleep last night you must have had a bad dream", "don't worry honey, mommy's not mad, but don't do it again all right?") and she runs her head through his hair and answers smoothly:

"Nothing to worry about darling. I just had a long night."

He squints his eyes but before he can question her further, she asks him:

"So, what is this urgent matter you were telling me about?"

Priorities win over his concern and he replies hurriedly again, his words almost jumbled:

"It's Ma, something's happened with her magic, she hurt David but she didn't mean it, she ran away and she's not answering her phone, we have to find her to make sure she's okay, you... will you help me?"

She realizes her son is not aware of the recent developments between Emma and her, and he doesn't seem too convinced that she will, but she taps him lightly on the shoulder as she walks pass him, heading for the stairs.

"Get your coat, Henry, and wait by the car. Let me freshen up and I'll be right here."

A weight seems to get off the boy's chest and he nods, relieved, rushing to do as he's told and she thinks he must have been distressed the whole night, and she is angry at herself for leaving him alone and failing him again in a time of need, and at the Charmings for not being able to fix their own problems without her help.

As she looks in the mirror, she thinks that thankfully, she usually can clean other's messes better than her owns.

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><p><strong><em>And here it is, I hope you'll like it. Thank you everybody for your lovely reviews, thank you for the followers and those who favorited, and enjoy tonight's ep (and good luck too we'll probably need it...).<em>**


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